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I open my eyes. The brightness of the room blinds me. I rub my eyes as I sit up. A sharp pain on my temple hides behind a long scar. White. Paleness consumes the room. Defines it. A lifeless white acts so unlike snow, yet they are the same.

“Welcome.” A voice, but from where? From whom? “How are you feeling?” A speaker on the wall carries the voice. Where am I? Who am I?

“You are in a hospital. You have just woken up from a coma. Do you remember anything?” A coma? How much of my life had I wasted? I remember nothing. There is nothing. Who am I?

A face appears at the window on the door, angry, sinister. He has a beard as white as the room. Please, tell me. Who am I? The face disappears.

“You are 154.” A number. Was that right? It must be. I don’t remember otherwise. There is nothing. Two smiling faces appear and enter the room. A man and a woman. Their smiles are lies. I am afraid. I fear them. Who am I?

“Hello, 154. We have missed you.” Said in unison. Who are they? Who am I? “Come home now.” Home. Memories come flooding back. I remember. Grass, cows, laughter. They are far away, yet so close. A woman smiles at me, warm, tan. My mother.

“We are your parents, 129 and 136.” No. They are not. This woman is not my mother. I remember her face, her voice. There is nothing. Their false smiles fade to true frowns. The woman who is not my mother reaches into her pocket. She reveals a needle, a syringe. I hate needles. I scream. Please, no! Where is my mother? Who am I?

“He remembers. A shame, too. We were almost sure this time.” The speaker on the wall buzzes again. The woman with the syringe sighs and comes closer. Please, no! The syringe lingers close to my hand. A final scream, the darkness. Darkness.

I open my eyes. The brightness of the room blinds me. I rub my eyes as I sit up. A sharp pain on my temple hides behind a long scar. White. Paleness consumes the room. Defines it. A lifeless white acts so unlike snow, yet they are the same.

“Welcome.”





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